A Christmas Quarrel
by Joseph Perch
Summary: In this short story, Q pays Jean-Luc a visit at Christmas time to teach the captain about humanity, though his lesson does not go as planned.


**A Christmas Quarrel**

**Stave One:**

Earth.

The big blue bean.

If you went in for those kinds of things, you might consider it attractive. Q was one who didn't particularly go "in" for those kinds of things. It was the bean's inhabitants that piqued what interest he could muster. Yes, humans were quite rudimentary, but there was potential. Even if they still had an almost infinite amount of learning to do. And that's why Q was there. He liked to think of himself as a teacher. A scholar.

He was, however, a little disappointed to find the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ in orbit around the planet. He had hoped he could pop Jean-Luc away from his beloved ship. If he couldn't irritate that particular human at least a little bit it wasn't nearly as fun. But one doesn't always get what one wants. Unless one is Q.

The self-proclaimed omnipotent life form found Jean-Luc in the city of London, which was little more than a giant museum these days. Snow was falling about the city, great big fluffy flakes, swirling slowly in the slight breeze and beginning to coat the rooftops and trees along the streets and avenues in a white pewter. It reminded Q of an ancient Earth toy composed of a heavy lead glass dome filled with water, a ceramic Earth scene of banal inconsequence, and bits of porcelain floating and swirling in the water when one shook the thing. A snow globule or some such nonsense.

According to the ancient calendar called Gregorian, it was December on Earth. Inside the ancient but painstakingly restored Millennium Dome, Jean-Luc was standing at a podium in front of nearly three thousand beings, races from across the Federation. The starship captain was speaking on a topic to which he was uncomfortably close. Q could sense the tension in Jean-Luc's body. Feel it flowing through him.

"To date, there is no known ... antidote," said Jean-Luc, looking out at the gathering. The captain smiled and moved away from the podium to a fairly young human child sitting in a propulsion chair. Commander Deanna Troi, ship counselor for the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, stood behind the chair and rested her hands lightly on Timothy's shoulders. The child was debilitated, which was odd in this age of medicine. But Q knew why the child was handicapped. Just as he knew the next words the starship captain was going to speak.

"There is no antidote," repeated Jean-Luc, "but sometimes there is a cure." The child smiled up at him. "Timothy was part of the collective up until six months ago. We were, however, able to cure him. We removed the Borg nanites and have begun the process of mending his body, replacing the heinous prosthetics of the Borg with prosthetics that Timothy can control and enjoy in his day-to-day life.

"Of course, it's not his body that concerns us most, but rather his mind and spirit." Jean-Luc Picard began to reach for the boy, put his hand on his shoulder, but he stopped. The child leaned slightly towards the starship captain. No one else noticed, except for the Vulcan contingent, but Q saw Jean-Luc move a few millimeters away when the boy leaned. Q smiled. Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Commander of the flagship of the Federation. He had faced countless perils, many of them life-threatening. Threw himself into the face of danger for the greater good time and time again. Blah blah _yawn_. Yet he was uncomfortable around children.

That would play well with what he had in store for Jean-Luc.

Captain Picard continued, "It's up to us to mend him wholly. Completely. In a few moments, when we've finished here, we'll take Timothy to the U.S.S. _Pasteur_, where the finest medical staff, aside from the _Enterprise's_, of course," there was polite laughter from the attendees, except from the Vulcan contingent, "will take personal responsibility for this young man's reintroduction to humanity."

"Will you be there, too?" said Timothy, his voice anxious.

Jean-Luc looked uncomfortable. "Well, you see, Timothy. As a starship captain I have certain responsibilities that..."

Commander Troi knelt next to the boy on the other side of the chair from Picard. "Timothy," she said in soft tones, "Captain Picard would very much like to be with you for your rehabilitation, but he has important work to do for the Federation. I'm sure he'll visit you as often as he can."

"Yes! Yes, of course I'll visit. Often!" Timothy looked hurt, but he didn't say anything. Jean-Luc looked back to the audience quickly and cleared his throat before saying, "As we take this bold step towards Timothy's future..."

Q stood up in the front row and clapped slowly. Jean-Luc looked in his direction and anger flashed in his eyes. It would be no fun at all if he didn't get that rise out of Jean-Luc.

"Q, what are you doing here?"

"Why Mon Cap-i-tain, I've come to delight in the holiday festivities: the holly, the ivy, the plum pudding, and the wassail. I was feeling especially altruistic and thought I would share the bounty of Q with humanity at this special time of year."

Q knew that Picard was already beginning to seethe, but to his credit, the captain kept himself composed.

"Ah, I see someone is lacking in the Christmas spirit," Q remarked. "Yes, perhaps that's what we need around here."

"Q, I haven't the patience to deal with your frivolous ploys right now."

"'Frivolous ploys?' I seek to bring enlightenment, love, and redemption to humanity." Q sniffed as though smelling something distasteful.

"Redemption, Q? You don't know the first thing about redemption."

"Perhaps the concept is beneath my vastly superior intellect. But it is not beneath yours. And so, like Father Christmas, I am here to bring joy and happiness to the masses. How about we start with this little one?" Q turned to the young boy and a spark shot from Q's index finger to the boy's forehead. The clumsy prosthetics and grafts disappeared almost instantly to uncover whole limbs and flesh. Timothy's eyes lit up with a new glow and a smile crept across his face.

"See, Jean-Luc? I'm already spreading cheer. Now, Timothy, why don't you go out and play in the snow like a good lad."

Not quite sure of his new limbs, Timothy stood slowly. Deanna helped him up, but he was able to stand on his own. He turned around and beamed at Q. An anxious murmur rose from the attendees.

"Stop meddling, Q," said Picard, his voice low and full of threat. Q found it childish and delightful.

"Now, Jean-Luc, was that not the more compassionate answer for the boy? Instead of years of painful surgery, rehabilitation, and physical therapy, I gave him but a small gift of Q. One should learn to not look a gift Q in the mouth, dear Captain. Where is your compassion?"

"Another concept I find hard to believe you have any knowledge of. Stay out of the affairs of humanity, Q."

"Exactly right, Jean-Luc, because humanity should be _your _business."

Captain Picard closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Now I understand, Q. You've discovered Dickens."

"Discovered?" Q practically yelled. "If it wasn't for me, I'll have you know, that insignificant human would never have been published."

Picard opened his eyes. "You want me to believe you influenced Charles Dickens?"

"Influenced? I practically wrote all of his works. You really need to stop that naiveté of yours, Jean-Luc. Do you honestly believe a human could have written so many pieces that have survived the ages?"

Picard looked up. "What are you doing Q? Why are the lights changing?" Darkness enveloped the audience, all that is except Q, who seemed to be commanding his own version of a spotlight.

Instead of seeing the inside of the Millennium Dome, Picard saw stars. For a moment, it looked like the dome had turned to glass. He saw snowflakes falling, but they didn't look real at first until one touched his face and melted. Picard looked back at Q and the audience. Instead of seats and aisles, people milled about in streets and alleys. Their clothing changed from utilitarian temperature-regulating jumpsuits and uniforms to waistcoats, petticoats, top hats, scarves, and gloves.

"Q, what have you done?" Gone were the late 20th century arena and the vibrant, sometimes harsh lighting. Instead, Jean-Luc saw darkened cobblestone streets, gas lamps, carriages, beveled windows, chimney smoke, and shutters. There was the sudden sound of bustle; the interaction of street vendors and their customers. He heard the clickety-clack of hooves on the cobblestones. From somewhere a choir sang a Christmas carol. The air was cold and Picard could taste and smell the soot of burning wood and coal, pine boughs, perfume, and cooking meat.

"Strange isn't it? Seeing your beloved home so changed like this. So devoid of the light and life you've become accustomed to. But what better setting for a ghost story?"

Picard sighed. "Don't tell me, Q. I'll be visited by three spirits."

"Four, actually. Don't forget about poor Marley. I thought he was a rather smart invention of mine."

"And if I refuse to go along with your bizarre antics?"

"Antics, Jean-Luc? You disappoint me. You have so much still to learn."

"About humanity? I hardly think you are the one to teach anyone about humanity," there was anger in Picard's voice. He took a step towards Q, who smiled and snapped his fingers.

**Stave Two:**

Q found himself at a wooden desk sitting in a very uncomfortable wooden chair. Before him were several stacks of English coin and a giant black leather-bound ledger with columns of figures written in tiny careful strokes. In his right hand was a quill recently dipped in ink.

"Excuse me, sir." The growl of the voice was all too familiar. Q looked up slowly from the ledger. Worf, looking ridiculous in Victorian pants, waistcoat, jacket, and scarf, stood before Q. "After all, it is Christmas Eve, sir. And begging your pardon, sir, if it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience."

Q felt, not fear, that was impossible, but something that almost approximated discomfort.

"Who are you talking to?" he said to Worf.

The Klingon looked confused for a moment. "Well, I'm talking to you, Mr. Scrooge," he said, his voice a growl of modest good cheer ... for a Klingon.

Q blinked a few times. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

Before he had time to think, the front door of the counting-house banged open. It was Riker, dressed in a finer raiment of Victorian clothing.

"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!"

Q stared at the first officer of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. What was going on? He looked around the counting-house. Everything was as it should be: Worf working by candlelight and cold from the lack of coal, Riker as Scrooge's cheerful and addle pated nephew, but where was Picard? He was supposed to be Scrooge. Q didn't know what had gone wrong, but it was easily remedied. Q snapped his fingers.

Riker, still with that dimwitted grin on his face, looked to Worf. "Merry Christmas, Mister Cratchit."

"And a very Merry Christmas to you, good sir," said the Klingon, also smiling, baring his fang-like teeth, and full of Christmas spirit.

"Out of my way, Riker," said Q, all but falling from his chair and pushing past the first officer. He ran, no that was not correct, Q did not run. He moved quickly out into the cold London evening. Q could see his breath. There was snow on the ground and icicles twinkling from the eaves of buildings that lined the broad cobblestone street, which was riotous with people. There was an unhealthy bustle as people eagerly and anxiously finished their Christmas provisioning. A woman and her baby stood near the doorway. She turned towards Q.

"A penny for the baby," she said, brushing a strand of red hair from her face.

Q would have delighted at the sight of Dr. Beverly Crusher reduced to street urchin if he was not so ... disquieted by the fact that he didn't seem to be in control of the situation. He walked on without saying a word to the doctor. Her baby began to wail.

"Shut up, Wesley," she said sternly, tucking the threadbare gray blanket tighter around the infant.

What was going on? Q looked more closely at his surroundings. It was definitely London in the 1840s. The London he had created only a few moments earlier. But he shouldn't have been here as Scrooge. And he certainly shouldn't have been here without his powers. He snapped his fingers again. Nothing. He looked up into the light snowfall.

"Q is that you?" he said.

He wouldn't put it past Q to do something like this. They were always butting in where they didn't belong. But what senses he had remaining to him told him this wasn't Q. Something else was going on. Someone else was in control. But who? Who had the power to imprison Q like this?

Q felt quite lost amongst the hoard of Victorian humanity. The closely packed street vendors and shops sold everything from unplucked geese to mulled wines from toys and dolls to gemstones.

"Excuse me, sir."

Q looked up absently, still deep in thought. He sighed. It was La Forge and Troi.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?" said the Betazoid.

Q stopped and looked around. He was several blocks from the counting-house of Scrooge and Marley.

"This isn't supposed to happen here," said Q. This was supposed to happen in the counting-house, right after Scrooge's nephew left. The story was adapting, but Q wasn't sure what that meant.

La Forge and Troi smiled at him, waiting for his answer. Q decided to test them.

"I'm Marley," said Q.

The two looked at each other, a quick glance, really, and then back at Q.

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?" said La Forge.

The players switched lines, but the lines stayed the same. Perhaps the players couldn't ad-lib. The programming behind this was more archaic than even the kludgy holodecks of which the humans were so proud. These "actors" were equipped with simple programs. Nothing more. And idiotic grins to match, like that of a simpleton or someone quite deranged.

"Few things are ever as simple as they appear, Q" said Troi.

Q almost missed it because he was deep in thought. His eyes narrowed and his head whipped around. "What did you say?"

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?"

Had he heard the Betazoid correctly? His disquiet grew. Without thinking he snapped his fingers. Still nothing happened. La Forge and Troi continued to stare with idiotic expressions. Would they wait forever for the correct response? Q could wait that long, and longer. "Forever" was an archaic concept to him. But that would be far too boring so Q dismissed the tactic.

He pointed a finger at the engineer and counselor. "I'll get to the bottom of this. And whoever is doing this will pay dearly."

Troi smiled, almost sadly, and shook her head.

"Go stuff yourselves." Q turned and walked away from the duo, his boots crunching atop the thin layer of snow on the ground. He wasn't going to play along. He was Q. He didn't play along with anyone.

He turned into an alley, deciding to head East to see if he could find the boundaries of this pseudo-world. But it was the wrong way. The alley became dark. Like pitch. Grumbling, he turned and found himself in a sitting room, a small Dutch fireplace before him.

"'Paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures,'" said Q softly. There was a tiny glow within from the meager amount of coal that Scrooge allowed.

Q spoke to the room in general. "Okay, let's get this over with. Where's Marley?"

"Behind you."

Q approached a feeling that was not unlike being startled. Though to be startled would be absurd for him. He smiled and turned.

"Jean-Luc, I should have known. Okay, let's have it. Oh, wait. That's right. I start." Q cleared his throat. "'How now! What do you want with me?'"

"Much!" said the apparition of Picard. His voice spectral.

The captain of the _Enterprise_ was dressed appropriately in waistcoat, tights, and boots. Equipped even with Marley's pigtail. He was see-through, of course, and carried about him a chain of no small length or girth. It had the requisite padlocks and keys, but Q realized that in place of cash-boxes, ledgers, and purses it had the whorls of galaxies, the spirals of DNA, and the frenzied orbits of electrons around dense nuclei.

"This is going to be a long night," said Q.

"You have no idea," said Picard. "You'd better sit down."

**Stave Three:**

Q tried the door again. Locked. He even attempted something so banal and menial as to put his shoulder into it. Quite solid. There was no getting out of Scrooge's apartments through the main door.

Sighing, he turned to the Picard/Marley ghost and said with little enthusiasm, "Mercy. Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"

"You've skipped a few pages, but no matter," said Picard.

"So you can adapt to the situation?" Q stood up and gestured towards the chains. "May I, oh spirit?"

Picard shrugged. "You're supposed to ask me to sit down."

Q went up to Picard and hefted the chain in his hands. It was heavier than it looked. "Not exactly what Dickens described."

"We felt you needed something more suitable to your own situation."

"We?"

Picard's slight smile didn't change. "Unlike the Earth-bound Marley, this is the chain you have forged in life, or what approximates life for you. Do these galaxies not look familiar? This DNA? Even these atoms?"

Q looked more closely and shrugged. "They seem familiar."

"You have long ignored that you share in the responsibility of the universe and that there are consequences to your cavalier attitudes," the ghost intoned, lifting the chain.

Ominously, the ghost then quoted from Dickens, "'How is it that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat beside you many and many a day.'"

Q stared at the apparition. "Who are you? You're not quite Marley, not quite Picard."

"As I said, 'I may not tell.'"

"Well, then, Marley or Picard or whoever you really are, if you're not going to tell me anything of value I'll be leaving now," said Q, yanking hard on the chain.

Q was disappointed that the chain slipped through the vaporous figure of Picard rather than pulling him to the ground. With a thunderous roar, the chain coiled onto the wood floor. Q quickly pulled the chain across the apartment and into his bedroom. He slipped one end around the post of Scrooge's bed and heaved the rest of the chain through the closed bedroom window. It crashed through easily, the glass and metal sounding like brittle cymbals, and whipped the bed across the room with a ripping squeal. Q had to dance out of the way. The bed hit the wall with enough force to shake the apartment. But the bed stopped and the bedpost held. Q went to the window and leaned out. The chain was long, reaching to within just feet of the street three stories below. He turned to Picard, bowed, and then crawled very un-Q like out the window and clung to the chain with all his non-Q strength. He let himself down several links of chain at a time, descending slowly but steadily.

"'Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tones one.'"

Q looked up. Picard was strolling ever so slowly down the side of the building as easily as though it were the street below, keeping pace with Q. In the darkness of the London night the ghost glowed with greenish white light, though it might have been a reflection of the gas-lamps that guttered below.

Q grunted with the physical effort, but managed to say, "If you're not going to help me down, please just shut up."

"'Expect the second on the next night at the same hour,'" said Picard, taking another step down the side of the building. He put his hands behind his back, as though out for a casual stroll around the grounds. Q could see Picard's hands through his translucent body. He still had that idiotic smile on his face.

"You know, Jean-Luc, even as a ghost you bore me."

The chain, that part of it that was iron and not some spiral galaxy or recombinant DNA, grew cold from the freezing night air. Q's breath came in vapors. He glanced down. The street was still too far below to jump without possible twisted ankles or even broken bones.

"'The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!'"

"Listen Jean-Luc or Jacob or whoever you really are ..." Q looked up, but the apparition was gone.

"Thank you!" yelled Q into the swirling snow and dark night, relieved at Picard's exit.

Then he realized he was at the end of the chain. With a bit of satisfaction he dropped the few feet to the snow-covered lane below. But his feet struck wood, not cobblestone.

**Stave Four:**

Q sat in the dusty old velvet chair in front of the Dutch fireplace. He waited what seemed an eternity, even for him, before he heard the chimes of the neighboring church strike one.

"Finally," he said, standing up. "All right. Come on out. I want to get this over with while the universe is still young."

The ghost materialized in front of him, sparkling into view as though being transported. But something didn't seem quite right with it, then Q realized it was an older transporter technology than that used on Picard's _Enterprise_.

The beaming was over, but the spirit continued to shimmer in the dark of Scrooge's apartment. Q stepped forward, trying to make out the face, wondering which of Picard's crewman it might be. It was none he recognized.

"Do I know you?"

The spirit only stared.

"Hello?"

The spirit stood like stone, neither moving nor speaking.

"Oh for crying out loud," said Q, practically burning with impatience. "'Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?'"

The spirit spoke, his voice firm and commanding. "'I am!'"

Q waited, then shook his head, looking up, "Really, you've got to improve the programming of your actors.

"'Who, and what are you?'"

"'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'"

Q leaned forward. The voice had changed. It was still deep, but not the same one that had spoken the first words. He realized the face seemed to have changed. He stepped close to the apparition.

"You were human just a second ago," said Q.

Now a Vulcan stood before him, though the features were indistinct. Then the pointed ears seemed to melt and a human shimmered before him.

"Wait, I know you," said Q. "You're ... damn, I know you. From Earth's past."

"'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'"

The human face, strong with penetrating eyes dissolved back into the Vulcan's.

"No, wait, come back. I almost had it figured out. You were someone that Picard admired. Looked up to if I'm not mistaken."

The Vulcan stood impassive, though his entire body undulated softly as though he were a hologram and the emitter was under water. The human returned.

"Kirk!" said Q, practically yelling. "And the Vulcan is Spock, isn't it?"

Q stepped back, his brow furrowing. "Now why would you be in my twisted nightmare?"

"To show you your past, of course," said Spock.

"Of course," said Q. "Very well, lead on, spirit."

Kirk took Q by the arm and led him to the window, through which they walked, finding themselves in a courtroom of the same era. Q-past sat on the bench, gazing down upon Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

Q couldn't help but smile. "Oh, yes. This was fun. See how Jean-Luc squirms?"

"He does not appear to be squirming," said Spock.

Picard stood up straight before the magistrate's bench.

"You don't know him like I do. That's squirming. And what a handsome magistrate I make. Rather an imposing figure don't you think?"

He looked up at Q-past on the bench, who was leaning forward and getting ready to speak, staring intently at Picard. His eyes flicked towards Q, as though seeing him. Had he imagined it?

Kirk shook his head. "You're not getting it, are you Q? This isn't a past you should be proud of. You had no right putting mankind on trial."

"Mankind?" said Q. "I get it. To quote Dickens, 'Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business.' That the rubbish you're talking about?"

Spock shook his head, rather sadly for a Vulcan. "How little you understand. Let us move forward to another time."

They were on the bridge of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. Picard's _Enterprise_. Q-past was there again, this time dressed in a Star Fleet uniform. On the view screen was a Borg cube.

Q smiled. "My little introduction between the Borg and your precious mankind."

"People died because of you," said Kirk.

"If it wasn't for me, the Federation would be in serious trouble. I gave them the forewarning they needed to prepare for the Borg. And make up your mind as to whether you're Kirk or Spock. It's making me ill."

Q turned away, feigning disgust at the morphing apparition. He looked up at Q-past, looking rather rakish in his red uniform. They exchanged a look and Q-past nodded, smiling ever so slightly.

Spock said, "You feel your meddling helped prepare the Federation against the Borg. Have you stopped to think what your interference did to the Borg? It gave them new direction, literally and figuratively. They immediately began their plans to assimilate the Federation and most importantly, Earth. A meeting that by our calculations would not have occurred naturally for another 200 years."

Q waved his hand impatiently. "I've heard enough. Q, can you help me?"

Q-past stepped forward. "Of course." He snapped his fingers. The crew on the bridge gasped, seeing Q dressed as Scrooge and a shimmering apparition that morphed between human and Vulcan.

Worf drew his phaser. "Security, send a detail up to the bridge immediately."

"_Now_ what are you up to, Q?" said Captain Picard. He stopped when he recognized the apparition. "Captain Kirk?"

The apparition didn't reply to Picard. It turned to Q. "Stop this."

Q smiled. "Not so high and mighty now that I've got the upper hand. Q, would you be so kind as to restore my powers?"

"My pleasure, Q." Q-past snapped his fingers.

Q wiggled his fingers. "That's better. Much better." He turned on the apparition. "Now let's find out who you really are."

The apparition faded as Mr. Spock said, "Live long and prosper."

"You're not getting away that easy. You have a lot of explaining to do."

Suddenly, Data appeared on the bridge with a laurel of holly around his head and dressed in a deep green satin robe. "Scrooge!" he bellowed. He held a gold goblet in one hand and a large turkey drumstick in the other. He was about to say something else when he stopped and blinked. "This isn't right." He disappeared.

Captain Picard walked up to Q. "Why are you dressed like that? What's going on?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," he said, snapping his fingers.

**Stave Five:**

Q found himself in a void, but a comfortable void, a void that felt like home.

"Q," he said, his voice dampened in the nothingness.

Another Q appeared, also in humanoid form, but different from the handsome human form that Q favored.

"I need all of Q," he said.

Q, in various forms, appeared in the void. None of the other Q were humanoid. One even showed up as a quark. Upon appearing, they all nodded, or indicated their understanding of the situation.

"We must confront this threat," said Q. "Any being that could entrap Q must be investigated and, upon a fair and impartial trial, dealt with quite severely."

Q agreed.

"As it happens," continued Q, "I have a plan. We have to bring this creature, or creatures, out into the open. I'm convinced they have feelings for humans, why else subject me to that tiresome Dickens novel?"

Q reminded Q that the Dickens scenario had actually been his own idea.

"Whatever, whatever," said Q, waving it off. "Regardless, it must have some affinity to the Earth creatures. We shall use them to ensnare it. Being on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ gave me an idea. I once created three timelines for Jean-Luc and took him back to the halcyon days of Earth, that is I took him back before life began. I'm going to that time right now and I'm going to prevent life on Earth from ever developing. I suspect that the creature will appear to stop me. When it does ..."

Q squinted at Q-quark. It was spinning oddly. Off balance. Wobbling. Then Q realized something was happening to all of Q. The other humanoid Q suddenly sprouted wires from his flesh. Metal plates above his eyes pushed out through his forehead. His brown skin turned ashen. Another Q had its fifteen limbs replaced with cybernetic prostheses that clicked and whirred with movement. Several tight red beams of light emitted from various Q and crisscrossed the void. The Q who resembled a nebulae filled with metallic particles. The Q-quark took on the sheen of synthetic biomass. Q felt something crawling beneath his own pseudo-flesh. It was as though worms slithered beneath the surface of this flesh. And there was pain. It burned and even tore at his mind. Wires and small conduits wriggled out, puncturing his skin all along his arms. He could feel it sprouting from his face. His mind burned like the center of a star. He was losing himself. Losing his identity. All around him, Q was morphing into ...

"We are Borg," said Q as one. "Resistance is futile."

And then for the first time in his approximation of life, Q knew fear. It was a pinpoint of cold stark light in the fathoms of his being. Then he realized that the very void itself, the Q Continuum, was changing. Parts of it folded in on itself while parts expanded.

"Oh my Q," he said, hardly above a whisper, the pain causing his sight to shimmer.

The continuum was contorting and changing into a Borg cube of enormous size. It was filling the entire space between stars. It was flowing effortlessly between dimensions. Touching upon infinite timelines at once.

**Stave Six:**

"How can this be?" said Q as his hand was replaced by a snapping prosthetic. Then he beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming towards him like a mist.

Q felt another feeling he'd never felt before: relief.

"Were these? ..." he found himself overwhelmed. He was confused and scared. Feelings he was unfamiliar with. It was pissing him off. The anger helped form the words that had stuck in his throat. "Were these shadows of things yet to come?"

The spirit approached him, walking along an invisible path in the vacuum of space. As he came close the impossible Borg cube behind the spirit melted away, replaced by Scrooge's sitting room. Q was actually relieved to see the stupid Dutch fireplace.

"Are you telling me that by having a little fun with Jean-Luc, the Borg are going to assimilate Q and the continuum?"

The apparition lifted its arms. Q expected to see skeletal hands within the folds of the dark cloak. But instead there were human hands. They lifted back the hood that shrouded the spirit's face. It was the face of an older humanoid. His hair was equal parts black and gray as were his trim beard and mustache. He smiled with the same annoying smile everyone else had used within the _Christmas Carol_.

"You're not the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come," said Q.

The older man shook his head. "No," he said, his voice deep but gentle. "Perhaps you should consider me the Ghost of Alternate Timelines. Your alternate timeline, of course. And to answer your question: yes and no. Q's intrusive behavior has always caused an unnecessary stress to the fabric of the universe. You think you know everything. That's dangerous to every other living thing in this universe. We felt it was time to show you what could happen from your meddling."

"Rather melodramatic, don't you think? Do you really believe that my putting mankind on trial or having Jean-Luc face the Borg years before humans and Borg would have naturally crossed paths that this led to the destruction of the Q Continuum?"

"Oh, you'll believe what you want. But as we tried to tell you, you really understand so little. Yes, this had everything to do with your meddling with mankind, but it was one specific incident that led to this. You and the rest of the continuum will continue to find ways to be meddlesome, sometimes to your own detriment. However, we have faith that even Q can learn."

Q snorted in derision. But then an image struck him as he recognized the being/beings that had been manipulating him. The name, Ayelborne, fired across the equivalent of his brainpan. Of course, the Organians. We have underestimated them, thought Q. Such a quiet lot, we took that as a measure of their lack of power.

"Do you want to see what causes the destruction of your precious continuum?"

"I can hardly wait," said Q, but he felt the tingle of fear at the back of his mind.

He found himself sitting on the stage of an auditorium. There were a few thousand beings in the audience. He recognized creatures from every member of the Federation. Then he noticed the pain. His legs and arms ached. Throbbed. Looking down he saw that he inhabited the body of a child. Timothy, the Borg-child. Then he realized someone was next to him. He looked up to see Jean-Luc sputtering some asinine gibberish.

"As we take this bold step towards Timothy's future ..."

Q saw himself stand up in the front row and clap slowly.

"Q, what are you doing here?"

And the events played out as they had before, except that when Q made the child whole Q felt himself split. He was still the child, but now he was the child whole, without any Borg defects, a perfect specimen of a human being, if such a thing were possible, and he was also the child still with the throbbing limbs, whose incalculable courage was the only thing keeping him from crying from the pain and discomfort. His life as the dual children unfolded before him. As the healthy human he was adopted by loving parents and grew into a healthy adult who followed in his adoptive father's footsteps and became a geologist. He was praised by his peers as a genius and helped the Federation in innumerous ways. Not a bad outcome, thought Q smugly.

The other Timothy, however, endured so much more pain as doctors extracted every bit of Borg technology from his frail body. Despite the Federation's best technology and even Vulcan attempts to ease the child's pain, each operation came with a thousand red-hot needles pushing into his flesh. But he rarely cried and he never complained. His rehabilitation seemed infinite.

If it wasn't for the kindness of Captain Picard and the crew of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ he didn't think he would have survived. They took him on board for extended voyages throughout the galaxy. Jean-Luc practically doted on him, helping him overcome the psychic trauma of being Borg. He fell in love with Deanna Troi. Over the years he also fell in love with a dozen or more other of the female crewmembers.

Years passed, but the pain did not. Despite their best efforts, he was never free of it. But now he was a young man. He had endured the final operation and he was as whole as medical technology could make him. His body was still frail and he walked with a limp, but his mind and his determination were strong. With a recommendation from Captain Picard he joined Starfleet Academy. He excelled in the sciences, especially nanotechnology. As an adult he served on science vessels and worked on his theories of cybernetics. It was during a mission to the Delta Quadrant that his ship came in contact with the Borg. It was his genius with cybernetics that prevented the ship and crew from becoming assimilated. They were even able to capture the Borg's away team. He used them as test subjects for theories he'd had about deconstructing the Borg. His theories worked. The Borg subjects reverted to their original species.

Within a decade he had developed an antidote for the universal virus known as Borg. As captain and taskforce commander of an armada of Federation vessels, he began the galaxy-wide inoculation of those affected. The tide turned. The Borg were no longer the aggressors. Their days as hunter had ended. Timothy would see the Borg plague eradicated in his lifetime.

"Q, what are you doing here?"

Q stood in the front row of the auditorium, clapping slowly. Timothy sat in his propulsion chair next to the Starfleet captain, Commander Troi knelt next to the boy. Q could feel the pain radiating from the boy. So much pain. And so much strength.

He smiled wanly. "Why Mon Cap-i-tain. Can't an old and dear friend come and wish another old, and I mean old, Jean-Luc, friend a Merry Christmas?"

"Christmas?"

"Now no 'bah humbugs' Jean-Luc." Q snapped his fingers and was gone.

A box wrapped in red paper and gold ribbon appeared on Timothy's lap.

**Stave Seven:**

Picard looked down at Timothy. The boy was reading a label on the top of the box.

"It has my name on it and it says it's from 'Q'. Who is that?"

Picard furrowed his brow. What was Q up to?

"He's an ... acquaintance of mine," said the captain.

He wasn't certain if he should allow the boy to open the present or if he should have Data analyze it for booby traps. The best course would be to transport it into the heart of the sun. But it was too late for that, the boy was tearing the paper from the box. Picard knelt next to him, ready to grab the box in case something dangerous was inside.

"It's beautiful," was all Timothy said as he reached inside the box.

The boy brought out a snow globe, but one unlike any Picard had seen before. Within was a Victorian cityscape with uncanny and delicate features. Lights twinkled, smoke rose from chimney tops, people moved along the cobblestone lanes and around the occasional horse-drawn carriage.

"What is it?"

"It's called a snow globe, Timothy. Shake it."

Timothy shook the toy. Picard had expected the swirl of porcelain flakes, but instead, it looked like a blizzard of real snow. Even at this scale you could see, or maybe sense was a better word, the intricate details and uniqueness of each flake, as though each was individually etched by a skilled artisan.

"Oh, listen!" gasped Timothy, holding the globe closer to his ear. They could hear the faint sounds of dogs barking, church bells pealing, and a choir singing a Christmas carol. The more the captain looked the more details he saw. Like a holodeck in a jar, but somehow so much more real.

Then Picard leaned a little closer. "Scrooge," he whispered.

"Scrooge?" said Timothy.

Picard pointed to a window in one of the buildings deep within the globe. There was a cowering old man facing a spectral vision of a spirit bound in chains. The boy shook the globe again, and the details shifted to a warehouse festooned with garland. Picard pointed again. "Look, it's Fezziwig, dancing with his wife and his daughters."

"Fezziwig?"

"It's all from an ancient Earth story. I have a copy. I'll forward it to you so that you can read it."

"What does it all mean?"

Picard found himself taking the globe gently from the boy's hands. He shook it and peered even closer. Along with the swirling snow, were those galaxies and chains of DNA dancing in the liquid? Picard stared once more at Ebenezer Scrooge. Or was it Scrooge? For a second Picard thought he saw himself in the globe or was it Q's face?

Puzzled, Picard handed the toy back to Timothy. Picard noticed a twinkling in the child's eyes and that some of the pain seemed to be lifted from the child's limbs.

"Perhaps ..."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Well, I was just thinking that just perhaps you'd like to see what the _Enterprise_ looks like."

"Really? Do you mean it?" There was so much excitement in the boy's voice.

Picard nodded brusquely. "That is, of course, if Commander Troi is willing to supervise."

Picard could see her trying to hide her smile. "As you wish, Captain."

Picard frowned at her and looked back at the globe. "And perhaps, Timothy, I could read you that story."

- end -


End file.
